Using glass cutters, two thieves cut a hole in the skylight of a warehouse. They rappelled forty feet down to the floor to avoid the motion sensors that would have spoiled their plans. It seems like they spent a non-trivial amount of time searching for their bounty.
But they found it. They then absconded back through their skylight entrance and made off with their prizes.
What they were after: rare and historically important BOOKS.
This $2.5-million book heist took place in London. They got one of Copernicus' 1566 heretical De Revolutionibus Orbium Coelestium as well as a 1569 copy of Dante's The Divine Comedy.
There are two theories to the thieves benefactors. The first is that a nefarious collector is behind it, finding some criminals to get the books for their own collection. Sounds like a bad movie plot, but the support goes like this: the stolen books were owned by two of the world's foremost antiquarian book collectors, a tiny list to begin with; they were being housed in the warehouse for an upcoming auction that only the other collectors care about; and the stolen books were specifically taken over other books in the same crates.
The CEO of Art Recovery International, Chris Marinello, puts forth the second theory of who stole the books: the "Goodfellas" theory. This theory posits that someone who works the warehouse got some information, did a little research, and tipped some folks off to the locations of important crates and their contents, and is sitting back ready to collect the cash from the book sales.
One problem is that these books are so rare and valuable and well known that there is no international fence for them, meaning that in the "Goodfellas" theory, the thieves would have to be breaking the books up and selling them as fragments to collectors who don't know any better.
I kinda hope for the first theory, because then it means there are people who love important books more than me. I mean, I know that already. Plus: I LOVE THAT THERE ARE PEOPLE STEALING IMPORTANT BOOKS.
If it was me and my collection that I was trying to liquidate to fix financial issues, or free up some cash for family obligations, or even a stupid yacht party, I'd be fired up. But still...
Saturday, February 25, 2017
Monday, February 20, 2017
Reasons for Hope (Precipice Part II)
I read a few interesting articles that have helped tamper down my rising pessimism about how Americans coexist with novels and the written word.
One spoke about the various styles of either independent book-place or roving book-market/library that exist in the greater Los Angeles area.
I say "independent book-place" instead of "bookstore" because in nearly all of the cases featured in the article, the establishment did not start out as a bookstore, but eventually made it to something that resembles a bookstore.
One was a bar that serves literary-themed cocktails. The owner bought $300 worth of used books to line the shelves and found a market of people who want to come in, have a drink, read, and possibly purchase a book.
One was a salon in a Latin area of East LA (aka East LA). The owner's son asked his mother if it was okay that he set up some interesting books of poetry and fiction written by some of the folks in the neighborhood, writers who couldn't get attention elsewhere. A tiny section of books pooped up in between hair-care products and brushes. That was in the early '90s.
What amounted to the neighborhood's first independent bookstore was created, and it has grown ever since, taking over half the space.
Another pop-up bookstore is a skate-shop in Highland Park. It tends to have more independent punk magazines than books, but it does have some, and was created to showcase some of the skaters' own writing talents. Some of the magazines are really independent. One mentioned specifically is called "Legal Trouble" and it's compiled by a local skater and artist. It's a collection sourced from Wikipedia of legal battles of celebrities.
The randomness of the LA independent bookstore could be found in one of the more surprising locations: the Sepulveda West Car Wash. How cool is it that as you wait for the car to come out the other side of the automated wash room you could peruse a sizable taste of local poets, essayists, philosophers, and fiction writers?
Also featured in the article was FLOW---the Feminist Library on Wheels. Founded by Jenn Witte and Dawn Finley, FLOW has grown so much in popularity that the donations have needed to be housed in the Women's Center for Creative Work, located in a neighborhood I'm unfamiliar with called Frogtown.
In other heartening American's-are-okay-with-books news, since the election (and only through late January), Amazon has reported that they'd sold 47,000 copies of Orwell's 1984, and the paperback copywright holder has ordered a 75,000 copy reprint, which is considered large for a "classic."
Sales are up an estimated 9,500%.
One spoke about the various styles of either independent book-place or roving book-market/library that exist in the greater Los Angeles area.
I say "independent book-place" instead of "bookstore" because in nearly all of the cases featured in the article, the establishment did not start out as a bookstore, but eventually made it to something that resembles a bookstore.
One was a bar that serves literary-themed cocktails. The owner bought $300 worth of used books to line the shelves and found a market of people who want to come in, have a drink, read, and possibly purchase a book.
One was a salon in a Latin area of East LA (aka East LA). The owner's son asked his mother if it was okay that he set up some interesting books of poetry and fiction written by some of the folks in the neighborhood, writers who couldn't get attention elsewhere. A tiny section of books pooped up in between hair-care products and brushes. That was in the early '90s.
What amounted to the neighborhood's first independent bookstore was created, and it has grown ever since, taking over half the space.
Another pop-up bookstore is a skate-shop in Highland Park. It tends to have more independent punk magazines than books, but it does have some, and was created to showcase some of the skaters' own writing talents. Some of the magazines are really independent. One mentioned specifically is called "Legal Trouble" and it's compiled by a local skater and artist. It's a collection sourced from Wikipedia of legal battles of celebrities.
The randomness of the LA independent bookstore could be found in one of the more surprising locations: the Sepulveda West Car Wash. How cool is it that as you wait for the car to come out the other side of the automated wash room you could peruse a sizable taste of local poets, essayists, philosophers, and fiction writers?
Also featured in the article was FLOW---the Feminist Library on Wheels. Founded by Jenn Witte and Dawn Finley, FLOW has grown so much in popularity that the donations have needed to be housed in the Women's Center for Creative Work, located in a neighborhood I'm unfamiliar with called Frogtown.
In other heartening American's-are-okay-with-books news, since the election (and only through late January), Amazon has reported that they'd sold 47,000 copies of Orwell's 1984, and the paperback copywright holder has ordered a 75,000 copy reprint, which is considered large for a "classic."
Sales are up an estimated 9,500%.
Sunday, February 19, 2017
Outlier Status
The other day a colleague offered to get me a cup of coffee at Starbucks during an in-between time between work and a later event. Initially I resisted, but after telling her "a 12 ounce black coffee," I decided to ask if I could ride along to the coffee house.
Partly I felt like going for a ride, as if I were a puppy. But another part of me wanted to just pay for my own coffee. I don't usually buy products from Starbucks, but I was pretty sure I had enough cash for my small cup-a-joe. My thinking was that I would just buy my own drink when we got to the ordering or cash-register, or whatever.
That was my naivete showing.
It never occurred to me that she would have driven through the drive-thru. On the inside I laughing hard at myself, but on the outside I lost my nerve to demand to pay for my own drink, and was treated to a drink and some starchy calories.
It wasn't until the next day that I realized: I couldn't remember the last time I'd been through a drive-thru.
Was it 2009, during my October/November visit to Tony's in Louisiana, when the inevitable conversation Now that it's 3 AM, doesn't a trip to Taco Bell sound fantastic? happened?
Was it 2010 in Austin when Tony was visiting again and the hour was similarly late and the Taco Cabana was actually closed?
We drive to Sacramento at least once a year, and always sit down to eat at diners along I-5. I don't want to claim that we always have eaten well---I've eaten plenty of crapola in my days...
...But our situation is different. From 2000 to 2006, we lived in San Luis Obispo, a municipality that outlawed drive-thrus in the 70s. From 2006 through 2009 we lived in Brooklyn and didn't have a car. We spent 2010 in Austin and I worked two jobs and we were done with fast food. By the time we moved back to California, we were quite the food snobs, our parking situation at home was drastic enough to keep us out of our cars when we didn't have to be in them, and there being enough stuff within walking distance kept us out of the car in the first place.
It was like this past December when I rode my bike five miles along the beach in the chilly night air to run an errand before Ron and Carol arrived. It never occurred to me to use Uber or Lyft, which would have taken far less time and cost a trivial amount.
Sometimes I get the sense that the many things most American's have fully integrated into their lives that we---Corrie and I---have only a passing connection to, are the weirdo outlier facts that make us quintessentially American.
Partly I felt like going for a ride, as if I were a puppy. But another part of me wanted to just pay for my own coffee. I don't usually buy products from Starbucks, but I was pretty sure I had enough cash for my small cup-a-joe. My thinking was that I would just buy my own drink when we got to the ordering or cash-register, or whatever.
That was my naivete showing.
It never occurred to me that she would have driven through the drive-thru. On the inside I laughing hard at myself, but on the outside I lost my nerve to demand to pay for my own drink, and was treated to a drink and some starchy calories.
It wasn't until the next day that I realized: I couldn't remember the last time I'd been through a drive-thru.
Was it 2009, during my October/November visit to Tony's in Louisiana, when the inevitable conversation Now that it's 3 AM, doesn't a trip to Taco Bell sound fantastic? happened?
Was it 2010 in Austin when Tony was visiting again and the hour was similarly late and the Taco Cabana was actually closed?
We drive to Sacramento at least once a year, and always sit down to eat at diners along I-5. I don't want to claim that we always have eaten well---I've eaten plenty of crapola in my days...
...But our situation is different. From 2000 to 2006, we lived in San Luis Obispo, a municipality that outlawed drive-thrus in the 70s. From 2006 through 2009 we lived in Brooklyn and didn't have a car. We spent 2010 in Austin and I worked two jobs and we were done with fast food. By the time we moved back to California, we were quite the food snobs, our parking situation at home was drastic enough to keep us out of our cars when we didn't have to be in them, and there being enough stuff within walking distance kept us out of the car in the first place.
It was like this past December when I rode my bike five miles along the beach in the chilly night air to run an errand before Ron and Carol arrived. It never occurred to me to use Uber or Lyft, which would have taken far less time and cost a trivial amount.
Sometimes I get the sense that the many things most American's have fully integrated into their lives that we---Corrie and I---have only a passing connection to, are the weirdo outlier facts that make us quintessentially American.
Monday, February 6, 2017
Birthday Celebrations
Dinner was four courses. The first was heavy: a cauliflower polenta with roasted maitake mushrooms and scallions. I used fresh chicken stock and the flavor was stronger than I had anticipated, almost overshadowing the delicate cauliflower signature. It was good.
Second course was the 'main' course, and I didn't eff-around this time: Muscovy duck breast. I even butter-basted it with thyme... Start with the oven at 500 degrees, pat dry and season the duck breasts liberally with salt and pepper on both sides. Then oil the pan and get it screaming hot. When the oil just starts to smoke, put the breasts on, skin-side down. It won't stick if you've waited long enough. After about thirty seconds, put it into the oven.
Once the skin is golden, take it out and put the pan back on the fire--high flame. Turn the breasts over, put in two tbsp butter and a large sprig of fresh thyme. Position the duck, the butter, and the thyme, on the far side of the pan---the top---and tip that side up. As the butter melts, spoon the oil back over the overturned breasts. The butter will foam and turn the golden skin a deep and dark orange-gold. Let rest for ten to fifteen minutes. Medium-rare bird...words fail to describe it...
Third course was a roasted beet and goat cheese salad. We found both golden and candy-striped beets; the candy-stripes I haven't seen very often since leaving New York.
Dessert was roasted pears with apricots and pistachios. The sauce was a mix of wine and sugar and cardamon, and the cardamon wasn't overpowering.
Earlier, at the aquarium, we were trying to figure out who was having a better time: the babies from Corrie's mommy-group (who had accepted my invitation to a birthday-party trip to the Aquarium), or me:
Second course was the 'main' course, and I didn't eff-around this time: Muscovy duck breast. I even butter-basted it with thyme... Start with the oven at 500 degrees, pat dry and season the duck breasts liberally with salt and pepper on both sides. Then oil the pan and get it screaming hot. When the oil just starts to smoke, put the breasts on, skin-side down. It won't stick if you've waited long enough. After about thirty seconds, put it into the oven.
Once the skin is golden, take it out and put the pan back on the fire--high flame. Turn the breasts over, put in two tbsp butter and a large sprig of fresh thyme. Position the duck, the butter, and the thyme, on the far side of the pan---the top---and tip that side up. As the butter melts, spoon the oil back over the overturned breasts. The butter will foam and turn the golden skin a deep and dark orange-gold. Let rest for ten to fifteen minutes. Medium-rare bird...words fail to describe it...
Third course was a roasted beet and goat cheese salad. We found both golden and candy-striped beets; the candy-stripes I haven't seen very often since leaving New York.
Dessert was roasted pears with apricots and pistachios. The sauce was a mix of wine and sugar and cardamon, and the cardamon wasn't overpowering.
Earlier, at the aquarium, we were trying to figure out who was having a better time: the babies from Corrie's mommy-group (who had accepted my invitation to a birthday-party trip to the Aquarium), or me:
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